Ivory: The Search For Silence
by BizGirlCharlie
Summary: The Right Guy' story 2. Ivory long ago gave up on love, but has it given up on her? (IvoryBradshaw)


A/N: Hi all. This is the second story of a new series I'm writing based on the fact in the WWE the guys greatly outnumber the divas, yet none of the girls can find a decent man. I'm posting it before story one because it deals with a pairing that Carolyn just posted a challenge for (oooh! Bad English! Oh well, moving on. . .) It's not really an answer to the challenge because it's more angsty than a comedy, but I hope you like it anyway. And please review! I'm dying for some feedback!

Title – Ivory: The Search For Silence (Story 2 of 'The Right Guy' series)  
  
Rating – PG-13  
  
Summary – Ivory long ago gave up on love, but has it given up on her? 

Characters - Ivory and Bradshaw   
  
Disclaimer – I don't own the superstars mentioned in this story. Their bodies are owned by themselves and their souls are owned by Vince McMahon. 

Ivory laughed heartily at the movie on the TV - Chevy Chase and his Christmas vacation. She sipped egg nog and stroked the cat in her lap as she sat before a shimmering fireplace and watched TV. It wasn't the first time she'd spent Christmas alone and it probably wouldn't be the last, either. 

Away from the atmosphere of the wrestling business, she was just as real as anyone else. She cried during 'It's A Wonderful Life', she carefully wrapped even the presents she was giving herself and tomorrow, on Christmas night, she'd head off on an airplane to join her extended family for their regular day after Christmas celebration. But away from the wrestling business, she came to realize something. She was lonely. Oh, Mr Pookins the cat was good enough company, but he didn't provide the stimulating conversation that she needed just to function. Ivory was a talker. Her mom had joked that though she'd begun talking late, once she'd started, no one could shut her up. When she was alone, Ivory liked to read, but the fact remained - a good book never beat a good conversation.

All of her happiest memories were remembered that way. It didn't matter where or when it had happened, what made a moment special was the company, the discussion. 

If you were having a dinner party and could invite anyone in the world, dead or living, who would it be?

Ivory sometimes pondered that question, when she saw it asked in an interview, for instance. 

Ten guests, anyone was allowed.

Vince McMahon and Mother Teresa, Jesus Christ and Hitler (they could have some interesting conversations!), Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Einstein, Brad Pitt and Richard Gere (well, she had to have something to look at!), Dr Phil and. . .and Bradshaw.

See, that was the sad truth. Of all her memories, of all the people she'd ever known, a particular trip with a man who couldn't stand her ranked as the best. When they'd first set out he'd spoken frankly, replied to all her questions, but by the end he was just begging her to shut up. Honestly, she couldn't get enough of his voice and the things he said. She loved to rile him, but more than that, he was fascinating. How could someone who was obviously nothing more than a low-brow redneck, play the stock market with such success? And why would someone whose stocks had set him up for life, still continue to wrestle when he was a midcarder at best? Bradshaw was a true enigma - the one man she was desperate to unravel, but never could. 

She'd often thought about their trip together and hoped she'd get the chance to speak to him again, but she never had. As soon as his injury healed, he was over to SmackDown without ever looking back. But Ivory knew she'd also rubbed off on him. She'd read his web commentaries and heard he was saying that the only real way to shut her up was with a shotgun. 

So she wanted to hang out while he wanted to put things in place so he never heard her voice again. That was okay, she could live without a man. She could chop her own firewood and mow her own lawn, thank you very much. Besides, she was never very good at relationships. She was far too high strung to be tolerated twenty-four seven, and she'd been told this by just about every man she'd dated, as well as some she hadn't. But she didn't want a relationship with Bradshaw. For one, he looked stupid as a blonde. 

Ivory sighed. Her attraction with Bradshaw had never been physical. It was a hundred percent intellectual, and considering he was a man who rated beer, poker and cigars as life's simple pleasures, that was just depressing.

'Christmas,' Ivory thought to herself as she lifted the cat off her lap and onto the next chair. 'A time to think about what you don't have and what you don't even really want.'

"Goodnight, Mr Pookins," she said out loud. "Sleep well and we'll see what Santa Claus brings you during the night."

Smiling at his furry little face, she collected her glass and the plate and fork from her slice of pumpkin pie and returned them to the kitchen.

She rinsed them carefully, then set them in the dishwasher to wait for the rest of a load and she listened to the tinkling of china and glass.

'Bradshaw would find it ironic,' she thought. 'Exactly how quiet I am when I'm on my own.'

Smiling at this thought, she checked the fire to be sure it would burn down safely, then shut the lights off and headed upstairs. She changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, rolled over and went to sleep.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG-BANG! BANG!

Ivory woke with a start. What the hell was that noise?

She was almost down the stairs before she realized it was someone at the door, pounding at it for dear life. She briefly considered calling the police, but realized that if someone wanted to hurt her, they wouldn't knock. They'd just break in.

With one hand pulling at the hem of her nightgown to make it reach her knees, she began to unlatch and then open the door.

There, at her front door, stood Bradshaw.

Ivory looked at him in stunned silence for a moment before speaking. "Okay, since you're obviously not Santa Claus, what the hell are you doing here?"

Bradshaw blinked, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. 

"To wish you a merry Christmas, of course," he replied, just as coolly. "And to tell you I figured something out. I finally worked out how to shut you up."

"Oh really?" Ivory smirked, her cockiness tinged with just a little fear. What if he'd brought his shotgun? What if he'd snapped? "And how's that?"

Bradshaw didn't reply. He simply looked her straight in the eye, then pounced forward and took her face in his hands. His lips were on hers before she could even think. He kissed her hungrily, like he'd driven all day to be with her, to do just this. There was no tongue, just the intense pressure of his lips and the heat of his mouth as he kissed the breath right out of her. 

When he finally released her, she staggered back, unable to do anything but stare at his eyes as they reflected the heat she knew was showing in her own. 

"Is that really the best you can do?" she asked, far more shakily than she meant.

Bradshaw grinned. "Woman," he said, his voice low and sexy. "You'll be the death of me."

And then he was kissing her again, just as forcefully and she felt her arms wrap around his broad, muscular back as his tongue teased at her lips, then danced slowly with hers. At just a kiss she felt the lust burning right through her. She knew this was far from intellectual, but she honestly didn't give a damn. Conversation was for later. Now it was all about the kiss.

This time when he broke the kiss their foreheads were still touching and he breathed hot little breaths right onto her lips.

"Damn Christmas," he murmured. "I was never gonna sleep 'til I did that."

"I'm glad you came," Ivory whispered, brushing her lips over his. "You can join me tomorrow when I go visit my family. They're all exactly like me."

Bradshaw pulled back with a start, eyeing her worriedly.

Ivory just grinned. "Or we can just go upstairs," she shrugged.

"Yeah," Bradshaw nodded, smiling again. "Upstairs."

Then, claiming her lips a third time, he pulled her into his arms.

THE END


End file.
